Kitchen Chaos: Dreaming of a Maine Italian

I grew up in Maine and I have been longing for a Maine Italian sandwich. I don’t know why this food stops at the Maine border and hasn’t found its way here.

Kristen Elliott

It is school vacation week, and I am dreaming of warm weather and sandy beaches.

Unfortunately, I am here in frigid New England still fighting a cold or flu or whatever sinus aliment it has morphed into. I have been uninspired to cook or really even eat much. I have been thinking about comfort food.

I grew up in Maine and I have been longing for a Maine Italian sandwich. I don’t know why this food stops at the Maine border and hasn’t found its way here.

Growing up, we would pick up Italians on the way to the lake, which we called the camp.

The camp was not a fancy place. It had electricity but no running water. The private beach was perfect for kids, the water gradually deepening with no drastic drop off. I spent most of my summer days begging my parents to look at me as I did what I thought to be spectacular water feats.

Tall pine trees hummed with beetles and swayed softly in the breeze. A hammock provided a perfect napping spot or swinging spot if you were not tired. At lunch we would move to the shade and eat our Italians at the picnic table, beach towels folded into cushions to prevent splinters in our bathing suit clad bodies.

I get homesick for the lake, the summer and Italians.

I learned how to make the Italian when my parents owned a corner store in Portland.

You start with a soft Italian sub roll, the long kind. You split it down the middle like a hot dog roll.

The first ingredient is white American cheese, then deli ham. You don’t need to load up the meat and cheese, just one layer of each.

The next ingredient is the key – a sour pickle. I have found the right kind of sour pickle at Roche Bros. If the pickle is not right, it just isn’t the same. The pickle is sliced into spears.

If I were ordering an Italian in a store, I would ask for no olives, otherwise they would top it with two or three olive slices.

Finish by drizzling olive oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper.

The combination of sour pickles and the sweet tartness of onions and fresh tomatoes, there is nothing like it. I have made this for friends around here and they said it was the best sandwich they ever had.

Another food that I get homesick for is Pier Fries. These are French fries sold at Old Orchard Beach in Maine. Pier Fries only makes French fries, and they do it right. I don’t know what the trick is, but these are the best fries you will ever have.

They start with fresh potatoes and cut them crinkle cut style. They are fried until they achieve a golden caramelized crust on the outside but remain soft on the inside. They make them to order and do not sit under a heat lamp, so when they hand the box to you they are piping hot.

We like them best with salt and vinegar. I am getting my appetite back just thinking of them.

Old Orchard is an interesting place to visit; with rides and games it is like a permanent carnival. Teenagers drive the strip with the windows down and radios blaring whatever happens to be popular at the time. It hasn’t changed much since I was a teen myself, only the music playing likely isn’t Bon Jovi and Guns N’ Roses.

Even though it is frigid outside now, it won’t be long before the warm weather returns. In the meantime, try making yourself a Maine Italian and imagine yourself sitting on a picnic blanket in the warm sun on a peaceful lake, waves gently lapping the shore. That is what I plan to do.